Conclusions to Conundrums
by Iceewhateverthenumbersare
Summary: It's been four years since Xelia was freed from The Riddler's grasp, and things are going great. She has two great jobs, great friends, and an overall happy life. What could possibly spoil it? Wait… They're letting WHO out of Arkham?
1. Only Time Will Tell

Last we left off, stuff happened. Lol.

Only Time Will Tell

Xelia brushed off the snow that had fallen into her hair as she entered Gaston's Hair Salon, ready for her shift. It was always held a relaxing atmosphere, complete with soothing music playing in the background, and lavender scented candles filling the air with their fresh scent; rather, it would have been relaxing if Gaston wasn't running around in a panic.

He was currently giving a speech about something to the employees, his hands waving about madly, further emphasizing his state of panic.

"Oh, Xelia, you're here. Thank heavens." He said breathlessly as Xelia removed her snow dusted coat. "I have big news," Gaston's hands continued to display his emotions, "Bruce Wayne himself is coming into the salon today." Xelia quirked a brow, unsure of what that meant to her personally; she didn't understand Gotham's fascination with the man, but she wasn't going to question Gaston about it. "This is the chance of a lifetime!" He continued to gush, "If Mr. Wayne approves of this place, just imagine what that can do for business!"

"I can imagine." Xelia replied as she skirted around her boss and hurried to the back room. She placed her coat upon one of the hooks, and donned an apron, ignoring her fellow coworkers, who looked as though they would more than likely swoon as soon as the CEO stepped foot inside the salon. True, Bruce Wayne was a handsome man, but he was also surrounded by women who were twice as pretty as anyone in the salon; twice as fake as well, she was sure.

Most of Xelia's day was filled with gossiping coworkers, and an anxiety-stricken boss. To add to the annoyance, every time the door opened, everyone would stop and stare at the door. She tried her best to ignore everything but the client in front of her, making small talk to help distract herself.

"I'll be sure to take photos of my Margi's recital." Xelia smiled, inwardly wanting to beat her head against a wall; one can only stand looking at grandchildren photos for so long before they snap. Still, Xelia kept up her smile until the customer was heading out the door, only then did she turn around and let her smile fade.

"Oh, allow me." A deep voice said from behind her, quickly followed by a girlish giggle. Xelia turned to see the handsome man that always adorned Gotham's newspapers, Bruce Wayne, holding the door open for the elderly woman.

"Such a gentleman." The woman gushed as she attempted to exit, only to have a younger man accidentally block her way.

"Oh, sorry, mam." The young man said politely as he stepped aside. Xelia recognized him as Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne's ward. All the female employee's eyes quickly began eyeing the pair like hungry sharks; well, all but Xelia, it seemed. Gaston quickly made a bee line towards the two men, not wanting a overzealous employee to beat him in greeting the pair.

"Oh, Mr. Wayne, it truly is a pleasure!" Gaston said excitedly, eagerly shaking the CEO's hand. "And you as well, Mr. Grayson; truly a pleasure."

Xelia ignored the swarm of coworkers who huddled in a whispering cluster, trying her best to "act normal", and not lose her head over a "celebrity". Instead, she went about cleaning the small table in front of "her" section of the mirror. She had no interest in a man who, more than likely, would never look at her twice; ok, maybe she would earn a double take due to her hair, but no reason beyond that.

"Aaaaaand, here is our color specialist, as you can see, and wonderful stylist, Xelia." Xelia turned upon hearing her name, finding a room full of people looking at her as her boss linked arms with her, as if showing off his date at the prom; Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, Gaston, and the gaggle of girls. She hadn't realized how tall the two men were until they were right in front of her. Mr. Wayne stood at least a foot taller than her, and then some, while Mr. Grayson stood tall, but at a more comfortable height.

"Oh, um, hello." Xelia said awkwardly, caught rather off guard by her boss' sudden personal space assault.

"Bruce Wayne." Mr. Wayne held out his hand for Xelia to shake, who in turn, took a split second to notice that his fine brown suit looked like it cost more than her car, apartment, and yearly salary combined.

"Xelia Moore." She said meekly as his large hand shook her much smaller one, making her feel tiny physically, as well as metaphorically.

"This," Bruce said, motioning to the young man beside him, "is my ward, Richard Grayson."

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Grayson." Xelia said as she shook his hand as well, noticing a playful smile on his lips.

"Please, call me Dick." He said warmly. Xelia supposed it was due to him being close to her in age, that she felt more of a connection with Dick, than Bruce Wayne.

"Dick is the reason we are here, actually. He'd like to get a haircut." Bruce explained, while Xelia's coworkers were plotting her demise behind him; normally she was well liked, but when Bruce Wayne and his ward were involved, it all turned into a jealous mess it seemed.

"Well," Gaston cut in, clapping his hands together, "I'm sure that Xelia would be more than happy to assist you, right, Xelia?" That's when she got "the eye"; the if-you-screw-this-up-I-will-personally-make-sure-nobody-finds-your-body eye.

"Yes, of course." She said, now nervous for her life. "Please, have a seat." Dick sat down in the plush chair, while Gaston led Bruce away, to the back section reserved for "elite guests".

"So, you're not going to turn my hair green or blue, are you?" He asked, chuckling light heartedly.

"I was thinking that pink is more your color." Xelia replied, as she lightly misted his hair with a water bottle. It was odd, it was almost like Xelia knew him, but surely she'd know if she had met someone as well-known as Richard Grayson before. She just brushed it off as maybe he just reminded her of someone she couldn't pinpoint at the moment.

"So, what made you want to dye your hair like that?" He asked, looking it over with interest. Xelia ducked her head a bit, not very comfortable with him looking her over.

"Ah, well, I just like color." Xelia said simply, focusing on his hair, instead of on him; he was rather good looking, but way out of Xelia's range.

It didn't take long to cut Dicks hair; then again, guys hair was usually much easier to work on compared to girl's hair. She removed the cape from around him, brushing off his shoulders for any stray hairs. Gaston had emerged with Mr. Wayne in tow from the back room, who was casually talking to some of the other employees, slaying them with his smile. Xelia caught Dick roll his eyes in the mirror at his guardian's antics as he stood up, turning to face Xelia as he did so.

"Ah, Xelia, you're done. Mr. Grayson, you look fabulous!" Gaston said as he scurried over to the two.

"Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you, too, Xelia" Xelia smiled shyly in return at Dick, telling herself to not read into their little exchanges too much; he probably, if not already had a girlfriend, flirted with all the girls just as Mr. Wayne did. Dick was led away by Gaston, back to Bruce, where the three men began chatting. Xelia resumed her "busy work", and began straitening her work space, as well as sweeping up Dick's black hairs. She looked up, when the door closed, Bruce Wayne's muscled frame easily distinguished even through the frosted glass of the door.

Luckily, for Xelia, most of the other salon employees were busy with customers, but the few who weren't practically sprinted over, assaulting her with questions. Truth be told, they didn't really talk too much, just some playful banter.

"Could that have gone any better?" Gaston, quite literally, skipped over to Xelia, shoo-ing away her questioning coworkers, his hands once more resuming their flailing as he spoke excitedly. "Mister Wayne was thoroughly impressed by our facility, and I think his ward was impressed as well." He nudged Xelia with his elbow, her lips forming a frown at her boss.

"Oh, I'm so sure; please, he has no interest in someone like me." His smile didn't falter in the slightest at her put down.

"Believe what you'd like, but he left this for you." He teasingly waved a dollar bill in front of her face, her frown twitching upwards at her boss' playful antics. Xelia rolled her eyes, and snatched the dollar from his fingers, her eyes quickly widening as she noticed that it wasn't simply a dollar bill.

"Fifty dollars! No way!" Xelia wasn't even sure what to say. A fifty dollar tip for a simple trim? That was just insane.

"A very generous tip for someone who has 'no interest in someone like you'." Gaston teased with air quotes, not that she was paying attention to much other than her outrageous tip.

Dick had no idea that Xelia Moore, the girl who had gotten entangled with The Riddler a few years back, would be working at the salon; let alone be the one to actually cut his hair. He wasn't sure if Bruce had known, if he didn't, he did, he didn't show it. Dick had enjoyed talking to her on a more normal and personal level; not that he hadn't enjoyed talking her as Robin.

He waited until he and Bruce went out on patrol to bring up the subject. Sometimes, it was easier for him to talk as Robin, than Dick Grayson, especially when it came to his personal feelings.

"Say, Bruce, did you know that Xelia Moore worked at the hair salon?" He looked over to Batman, who was focused on driving at that moment. Robin acted casual about asking, lounging comfortably in the Batmoblie's passenger seat, feet upon the sophisticated dashboard.

"The last I heard, she was working for Cobblepot still." Batman replied. Dick was used to Batman's short and to the point answers by now; he just took it as Bruce hadn't known, and decided to just drop the subject. Bruce's mind was focused on patrol at the moment, not idle chit-chat.

Truth be told, Bruce had known that Xelia worked at that very salon, as well as working for Oswald Cobblepot still. After he had so many encounters with the girl, and knew of the connections she had with some of Gotham's top criminals, it would be difficult to not keep a watchful eye upon her. Her safety was still in danger, as there was a vengeful Riddler just waiting for the right moment. Bruce knew that Edward Nygma hadn't forgotten about her; true, he was "locked up" in Arkham, but with someone as smart as The Riddler, that could change at a moment's notice.

It was only a matter of time.

Ah, I love new stories; the smell of fresh paint wafting through the air, hard hat signs still hanging about, and those pesky teenagers plotting to put their hand prints in the wet cement.

…what am I talking about?

Well, any who, here we are the next story, and how exciting it is to be here!

I've wanted Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson in the story for a while now, and finally here they are! Next up, we'll have everyone favorite riddle loving villain! Hooray!

Onwards and upwards,

Iceewhateverthenumbersare.


	2. Keeping Sanity in a Place Like This

Keeping Sanity in a Place Like This

Edward Nygma despised Arkham Asylum for many reasons. One of the main ones being the gossip. Much like in a school setting, when there was nothing productive to do, all you could do was gossip. The main source of information was the recently incarcerated henchmen; or, rather, the ones who were crafty enough to get into Arkham, instead of Blackgate Prison. It was rare, but there were some henchmen who surpassed the usual Neanderthal I.Q. The gossip came from them, and then quickly spread throughout the asylum. Most if it was just absurd rumors, while the remaining was just updates about the goings on in the outside world.

Eddie's interest was never found in idle chit-chat, but either way, he still listened for any interesting news. Lately, the topic was of The Joker, it seemed. The Clown Prince of Crime was about to beat his previous record of days out of the asylum, and every inmate was placing bets. There wasn't much to actually bet in Arkham, as there was no use for money, nor access to it, so the majority of the bets were just empty promises.

The red haired man's thumbs stopped mid-twiddle as his cell door opened, revealing a smiling doctor. Eddie never bothered to learn names; they were all the same anyways. Normally, Eddie would just overwhelm them with his brilliant intellect, leaving them flustered and insecure about their feeble minds. It wasn't uncommon for him to go through multiple doctors in one month, or sometimes, even just one week.

"Hello, Edward. How are you today?" In all honestly, Eddie didn't wasn't in the mood to talk about his feelings today, why he did things, and especially, not his childhood; the latter subject was the most persistent, as well as annoying. All he wanted to do, was sit in his cell, and just wait until these morons declared him sane.

"I'm doing quite well." Eddie replied, his sickly sweet sarcasm lost on the salt-and-pepper haired doctor. Over the past few years, the doctors have been so amazed with Eddie's civility and the fact that he was actually engaging with them, that they paid no mind to his false tones.

Eddie just clenched his fists and answered the redundant and repetitive questions. Arkham Asylum was prone to driving people more insane, instead of actually "helping" them. The jolly doctor pushed his glasses further upon his nose as he wrote down some key notes; totally unaware of the fact that Eddie had killed him several times in his head already.

Plotting, deceiving, and waiting, was how Edward stayed sane in a place that threatened to drive any and all insane.

Happy blue eyes shined back at Harleen Quinzel in the dull "safety mirror" in her asylum cell; the mirror was slightly more reflective that a piece of tin foil and was nearly unbreakable. Harley could recall, while she was a doctor, being told that mirrors were therapeutic. They allowed one to see, as well as compare, the similarities between the patient and "normal" people.

A few faint scars were visible on the young girl's body, which had long since healed perfectly. Her main focus recently was gaining her gymnastics abilities back. After so long in multiple casts, all of her previous strength and flexibility had been lost. The bunk beds in her cell were wonderfully handy to swing on, balance on, and work out on; that is, while no orderlies were looking. Patient liability got in the way of all of her fun. Harley didn't care though; she'd just resume her activities once her cell was out of eye sight.

Doctor Leland made sure to move quickly, seeing that Harley was quite vulnerable, emotionally and physically, when she was brought back to the asylum. Doctor Leland would only bring up the Joker to remind Harley that he was the sole reason she had spent months in casts. She was trying to lead Harley away from her previous life of crime, by encouraging "normal" behavior, and realistic thoughts; such as resisting the urge to sigh dreamily when being shown a photo of The Joker.

Many of the new inmates had to do a double take before they fully recognized her. After so long in Arkham, Harley's signature blonde locks were now their natural brown color. Naturally, she missed her usual blonde-self, but she remained positive, as it remained an excuse to visit her favorite hairstylist. Dr Leland had asked about the girl Harley called a friend; multiple times, even. She was surprised that the girl had willingly met with Harley, even after she had practically taken the girl hostage.

Harley let out a sigh as she flopped backwards onto her bed, an orderly passing by to give a brief visual inspection through the plexi-glass wall of her cell. Once the orderly was on his way, and out of eye sight, she scaled her way to the top bunk, and dangled from her knees, just as a young child would from the monkey bars. She did wish that she could spread out a bit more, as her cramped cell didn't even allow for a cartwheel, but for now she was content with her bed.

Progress, positive thinking, and her personal therapy, gymnastics, is what kept Harley Quinn's mind focused of gaining her normal life back.

"Xelia, you're on back room duty tonight." Todd announced as Xelia began her shift. There was a love hate relationship everyone held with the backroom. Just about all Mr. Cobblepot's "business associates" would tip astonishingly well, and there was the perk of not having to deal with the general customers; less fussing, and such. All you had to do was wait outside the "conference room" door to be called in, take drink orders, serve drinks, and then repeat the process as needed. It was nice and easy, and yet, it was also quite scary, as you have no idea what kind of criminal, gangster, or mob boss you're serving. What if you say the wrong thing, or, God forbid, spill a drink on someone; those suits certainly aren't cheap. Also, despite them tipping good, you're never quite sure where that money came from.

Xelia had been quite confused when Mr. Cobblepot traded the tip bills she had received with some of his own. She later found out it was to ensure that none of his employees received any counterfeit or marked bills; he always took good care to keep his employees out of any criminal activities.

After adjusting her uniform, Xelia waited patiently until she was called in. It was odd, having to wait, but it was to make sure that nobody over heard something they weren't supposed to; something she was grateful for. She jumped a bit as the door opened, her boss' head poking out from the crack.

"Ah, Xelia. Please, come in, come in." He said as he opened the door fully, ushering the girl in with a flipper like hand. She smiled and was about to greet him when somebody cut her off.

"Well, lookie who it is!" Xelia clenched her teeth as The Joker sprung up from his chair and skipped over to his victim. "If it isn't my favorite little soda jerk, long time no see." The rainbow haired girl let out a hiss through her teeth as The Clown Prince of Crime gave her a hearty slap on the shoulder; using much more force than necessary.

A nice boss, great work atmosphere, and an awesome paycheck is what kept Xelia sane when dealing with people like The Joker.

For anyone in a rage over me giving The Joker just some drive-by-dialogue, have no fear. I have plenty of ideas for him, just not at this moment.

I wanted to bring Eddie into the story, as well as touch base with Harley, and flesh out some details about how things go down in the Iceberg Lounge.

Tell me your comments, concerns, and social security number.

XOXOX,

Iceewhateverthenumbersare


	3. Ingredients of Fear

Ingredients of Fear

Spending an hour crouched in a bush wasn't how Jonathan Crane imagined his night going. If he had a sufficient amount of his fear toxin, he wouldn't need to hide in the bushes outside the chemical plant; he'd just spray the guards, grab what he required, and return to his new hide out. A frown graced his lips as he recalled the reason he had to relocate in the first place. Prior to ending up in Arkham Asylum the last time, he had set up his lab and dismal sleeping quarters in an abandoned house, just on the outer edge of Gotham. A few nights ago, when he broke out of the asylum, he'd discovered that, while incarcerated, "his" house had been ransacked. It made him even more furious that it was some of Gotham's delinquents that had caused the pointless destruction of his lab. They'd left cryptic graffiti, smashed his vials containing his toxin ingredients, and had senselessly burned part of his wooden work table; all in the name of "fun".

The disgusting youth of Gotham hadn't changed a bit since Jonathan was their age. They still had no respect, no brains, and, worst of all, no fear of consequences; he'd show them. He would make sure that they came to fear The Scarecrow. Come to respect him, obey him, and fear the power he had over them. It just helped prove his point that Gotham's police were completely useless and incompetent. They just sat, waiting for Batman to hand them the criminal, or spoon feed them the clues, while he dealt with the villains of Gotham. They reminded Crane of the student teachers he saw; too meek to handle a gerbil, let alone rowdy children. He always enjoyed watching the poor student teachers squirm when confronted with a delinquent student, knowing that they had no authority.

"Alright Professor Crane, the building is now clear." It was about time! He made a mental note to reprimand the idiots he'd hired about taking their sweet time eliminating the guards. The red haired man pocketed the walkie-talkie into a burlap pouch before standing, the joints in his knees popping in the process. His long legs threatened to give out, having since fallen asleep from their awkward crouched position. He pulled his burlap mask over his face, covering his scowl; he was The Master of Fear, and yet he was reduced to hiding in a bush! His last full canister of his precious toxin hung on a holster, as well as two empty cans. His hired help could easily take out the guards, but the bat was a different story; that was who Jonathan's last fear toxin canister was for.

Once The Scarecrow set foot inside the chemical storage, he felt like a kid in a candy store. Shelves surrounded the entire room, all holding various vials of all sorts of shapes and sizes. He swiftly grabbed a few vials, inspecting them in the poor light provided by a thug's flashlight. A total of six men, aside from Jonathan himself, were stationed throughout the building. Two outside, guarding the front door, two outside them chemical storage room, and the two that were in the room with him; one to hold the flashlight, and one to help him carry the chemicals, should he need any assistance. Unfortunately, they were all idiots.

"Say, professor, there's some pretty spooky lookin' stuff in here." The flashlight wielding guard commented as he held up a vial containing an animal heart encased in some green fluid. Jonathan growled as, not a second later, the clumsy oaf muttered a quiet, 'oops'. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the building's nearly empty hallways. In a split second, Jonathan Crane's masked face was inches from the clumsy henchman's, a canister of fear toxin being the only thing that separated the two.

Being anything but stupid, Jonathan had kept the fact that only a single canister of toxin was full a secret. As far as everyone knew, all the cans he carried were full. Judging by the look on the man's face, he fully believed that the canister was quite full, and ready to bring all of his deepest fears to life.

"Listen, you bumbling idiot, if you touch anything, aside from that flashlight, I'll make sure that you're too frightened to even close your eyes to sleep." His eyes narrowed dangerously, daring the man to defy The Scarecrow.

"Y-yes, Professor Crane." The man squeaked out, amusing the masked man. He let out a sigh of relief as Jonathan placed the dud of a canister back into his holster, and went back to the chemicals.

After that, there were no further mishaps, the two men kept silent, and complied with what The Scarecrow asked. Jonathan quickly placed some vials into his "pack-mule" henchman's arms; casually threatening the man's life should he drop any of them. The room's air was thick with silence, as well as uneasiness. After a few brief moments, the silence was broken by an eerie static being emitted from the ex-professor's walkie-talkie. His eyes swiveled down to the burlap sack that held the small communication device. He'd made it crystal clear that it was not to be used, unless it was an emergency; something was wrong.

"Turn off the light." Jonathan ordered, standing still as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness that now shrouded them. Once the burlap clad man could see well enough to decipher what was what, albeit vaguely, he sent out the flashlight wielding man to investigate the hallway. Clutching the flashlight as if it would save him, he shakily entered the hall, quickly looking down each end.

"T-they're gone." He said frantically, referring to the men who were previously stationed in the hall. All attempts to stand courageous and strong, were all gone. The man quickly turned on the flashlight, not caring about the prior command The Scarecrow had given him, and pointed it all around, only heightening his paranoia due to the shadows he'd created. "He-he's here! The Batman is here! We're trapped!" The man's breathing became labored, the beam of his flashlight quaking more and more as the seconds passed.

The Scarecrow could easily tell that the man's "fight-or-flight" senses had kicked in, and were leaning towards the latter action. He ground his teeth as, just as he predicted, the man quickly fled down the hall; this idiot was going to ruin everything! A scream echoed down the hall, announcing that Batman really was here.

"Boss, boss, what- what are we going to do?" Jonathan Crane learned long ago that fear was highly contagious; all it takes is one person to plant the seed that something was frightening, and in seconds it could easily take over and entire body of people. The man who was carrying the ingredients was beginning to grow frantic, vials of chemicals clanking together, threatening to shatter against one another. Jonathan quickly readied his only potent canister of fear toxin, pressing himself against the wall, eliminating an attack from behind. The hallway was lit by the abandoned flashlight, casting long shadows, and ruining Jonathan's plan of hiding in the dark; it wouldn't have made a difference, as Batman seemed to thrive in the darkness.

He looked away for a second. Just a single second was all it took for the only henchman Jonathan had remaining to disappear; more importantly, his chemical ingredients disappeared as well. Vulnerability wasn't a feeling Jonathan enjoyed, having felt vulnerable for a good portion of his life. A horrid feeling crept up his spine; the feeling of fear. He wasn't supposed to feel fear himself, he was supposed to be fearless and inflict fear upon others. Yet, here he was, back against a wall, alone, and, mildly frightened. His pulse quickened as he tightened his grip on the can, eyes darting all around, not trusting any shadow he saw.

"It's over, Crane." That voice alone was enough to make any criminal give themselves up. Jonathan Crane wasn't just any criminal; he was the Master of Fear, and he wouldn't give himself up without a fight. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and without any hesitation, he sprayed the figure with his toxin. Batman stumbled back a bit, as The Scarecrow cackled madly.

"Give into the fear, Batman! Bow before me, The Master of Fear, The Scarecrow!" Jonathan shouted, waiting for Batman to fall at his feet. That moment never came. Batman calmly held up an empty syringe, while Robin quickly apprehended the shocked man. "No! No! Y-You can't beat fear!" Jonathan yelled as he thrashed about. Batman removed Crane's mask, symbolizing that The Scarecrow had officially lost this round.

"You're right; I can't. I can neutralize your toxin though." Batman said as he helped his young sidekick get Crane to the Batmobile. The two vigilantes ignored the red haired man's insane shouting about fear and such, as they passed a large horde of police, as well as The Scarecrow's six henchmen.

"Good job, Batman. I assume you personally want to drop him off?" Commissioner Gordon asked, nodding his head towards the still shrieking Crane. Batman just nodded, his firm grip unyielding on Jonathan's thin, struggling arms. "Thank you again." The commissioner called out to the Dynamic Duo's retreating forms. He couldn't help but shake his head at Jonathan Crane's insane threats of brining all of Gotham and Batman to their knees. "What a night."

This chapter isn't what I wanted to write about, really, but it is necessary to the plot, and it was a good refresher for me to get back into writing.

I'm rusty, so this chapter might not be as up to par as the others.

Jonathan really is a complex character to write. There's SOOOO much that I want to include when I write him. I want to include his backstory, his thoughts, how he interacts with others, and so much more. I feel like I could easily write a novel on him, lol.

Glad to be back,

Iceewhateverthenumbersare


	4. Harley's Holiday

Harley's Holiday

Just about every doctor, guard, and general staff member cringed as Jonathan Crane's voice echoed off the walls of Arkham Asylum. Nobody enjoyed working with The Scarecrow after he returned to the asylum, as he was always unruly and vengeful upon his return. Instead of just a single doctor, Crane had a series of them. One could only handle a few sessions with Crane before needing a few days away from the asylum.

It took a lot of restraint on Batman's part not to knock out Crane and just drag him into his cell. The Master of Fear was currently yelling, right in Batman and Robin's ear no less, about how he will show the vigilantes the true meaning of fear. Once the guards saw, or rather heard, the red headed man's shouts, they shrank back out of sight. They'd much rather have Batman deal with the madman than themselves.

His threats were only stopped by Harley Quinn's soft voice smiling at the young once-blonde's greeting.

"Good evening, child." Crane replied in a dignified voice, only to turn back to Batman and resume his animalistic behavior. Robin just shook his head, pitying the Arkham staff members that had to listen to this every day. By this time, the guards couldn't hide themselves any longer, relieving the two masked men. While being drug away Crane still continued to preach his threats to the world.

"I think he's getting better." Robin joked lightly while Batman turned his attention to the girl still lingering in Dr. Leeland's office doorway. He'd heard that Harley was making great progress, and was even being scheduled to be released the following day. After all the time she'd spent away from The Joker and in therapy, it wasn't too much of a surprise, but Batman was more worried about how long it would really last.

Out of habit, Harley scowled at The Dark Knight, her arms crossed as she sported an unamused frown. Even while in Arkham, even being on the verge of being declared sane, the girl held a great dislike for Batman; it was all she knew. He was never her hero, only her enemy.

"I hear you're getting out tomorrow." He stated plainly, not put off by Harley's defensive pose towards him.

"You got a problem with that?" Harley asked, her usual attitude in full force. She gasped and flinched away as his hand extended towards her. Old habits die hard, but instead of grabbing it and handcuffing her as he did in days passed, Batman just offered it to her.

"Congratulations." He simply stated, not even offering a smile. Cautiously, Harley studied the gloved hand for a few seconds, before slowly putting her own into his.

"Yeah, so I made a few mistakes. I've got my head back together, and I'm going to live my life right." The girl's firm tone matched her handshake; confident in her abilities. Once she stopped shaking his hand, she realized that Batman's hand was filmy clamped onto hers, inhibiting her from retracting it. A nervous look replaced her confident one as she looked into his veiled eyes.

"For your sake," Batman leaned in threateningly, "I hope so." With that, the vigilante turned, walking down the dark Arkham corridor, leaving Harley to rub her now freed hand uncomfortably. A wave of confidence filled her ash she was determined to prove Batman wrong.

"I'll show ya!" She cried confidently. "Starting tomorrow, you'll see I'm just as sane as anybody." Harley crossed her arms confidently. De. Leeland looked on, feeling proud in her patience's determination in herself. "But first, I gotta do somethin' about this hair." She muttered to herself in disgust as she blew her brunette bangs out of her eyes.

"Maybe a bit more to the left." Xelia frowned as she stretched out her arm a few centimeters more, her arms starting to shake from the awkward position. "A little more."

"I'm on top of a ladder! I can only go so far to the left before I fall off." Xelia wasn't quite sure how she became Gaston's ladder-monkey, yet there she was, perched atop a wobbly ladder, holding up various photos.

"Stop being such a baby, you'll be fine." Gaston said from his place below her, eyeing the placement of the photo in Xelia's hand. He tapped his chin wondering if it would look better on the opposite wall.

"When I fall and break my neck, I swear..." She muttered to herself, tempted to drop the heavy framed picture on her boss' hard head.

"Alright, Xe, c'mon down. Let's try the other wall." The rainbow haired girl groaned as she descended; she'd be doing this all day. Thankfully, she did have a few appointments, one of which was Mr. Wayne, so she'd at least get some sort of break from her indecisive boss. Mister Wayne was actually one of the reasons Gaston was redecorating. Since the playboy and his ward became customers, Gaston felt as if everything needed to be redone, more upscale and classy. Unfortunately, Xelia had been dragooned into Gaston's fight against drab somehow.

The two drug the ladder over to the opposing wall of the salon, Xelia saying a silent prayer she climbed to the top, picture in hand.

"Ok, now a little higher. Hm, no, maybe a bit to the right?" Gaston called up, repeating what they had gone through on the other wall. "Try a bit to the left. No, your other left."

"We're facing the same way! There is no 'other left'!" Xelia practically shouted, swiveling around as much as she dared to glare down at him.

"A stylist and interior decorator, Miss Xelia?" Gaston quickly abandoned his job directing his employee and turned to see Bruce Wayne.

"Oh, Mister Wayne! Glad to see you! We're giving this place a little face-lift. Out with the old, in with the new." Gaston explained in a twitterpated fashion. "You know what they say, yellow is so last year." He motioned to a nearby garbage can where old decorations now resided. "All of the magazines say red is the new yellow, so Xelia was helping me hang some updated decor, right, Xelia?" Absentmindedly, he struck the ladder, as if to gain his employee's attention, not bothering to remove his eye's from his customer.

As if the ladder was part tuning fork, the light hit seemed to double in strength once it reached Xelia at the top. Before she knew it, she was airborne, looking up towards the ceiling, photo still clutched in her hand. Eyes clamped shut, she didn't even have time to cry 'goodbye, cruel world' before she landed.

"Are you alright, Miss Xelia." Apparently right into her customer's arms. Truth be told, she was far from alright. Physically she was fine, but emotionally she wanted to die of embarrassment. Her face was what Gaston called this year's shade of red as she squeaked out a yes, and bailed out of his arms; which were quite solid.

As soon as she was back on her own jello-like-legs, Gaston quickly grabbed her and began blubbering apologies into the girls shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Xelia! I almost killed my employee over a painting. I'm so careless! I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Xelia managed to pry him off her, praying everyone who witnessed this awkward moment magically acquired amnesia and forgot it.

"Well, luckily, Mister Wayne was here to save the day. Thank you." Xelia gestured to her hero-of-the-day, not yet ready to look at his face again.

"I couldn't just let a lovely girl fall, could I?" She'd never pictured herself falling victim to Bruce Wayne's flirtations, she'd pictured herself more of Dick Grayson's type; not that the she'd ever thought about it. Okay, maybe once... or twice.

"Well, if you'd like, we can get started." She said, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Once he was seated, it was much more easier to focus on Bruce the customer, instead of Bruce the eligible billionaire. He didn't say much, but Xelia had never imagined him being a chatter box; he was always refined and to the point. In response to it, Xelia kept herself quiet and busy. having already broken her embarrassment meter. The last thing she wanted to do was say something that may insult the salon's most important customer, giving Gaston a stoke and elaborate series of heart attacks, all in one serving.

"All done, Mister Wayne." Xelia handed the man a mirror to inspect the back, not that there was much to inspect; it was just a trim. He smiled and nodded to Xelia, handing her back the mirror. Carefully, she removed the black cape from around him, and made sure to remove every single hair from his expensive suit, which Xelia was sure could cover her whole year's worth of rent for the price.

"Thank you, Miss Xelia. Perfect job as always." Xelia smiled, knowing he was just being polite. Gaston quickly swept him away, more than likely persuading the man to make another appointment.

The girl began to sweep up the little bits of hairs that were on the floor, not that there was much at all. "Oh, Brucie, you look so handsome!" Xelia cocked her head to the side as she watched an energetic red head attach herself to Bruce's arm. It was certainly different to see the man turn a light shade of red; quite comical, really.

"Thank you, Veronica." He replied, giving her a smile as he took the shopping bags from her arms like a gentleman. Gaston became star struck by the woman, looking as though he was ready to start kissing her feet. Now that Xelia thought about it, she did look familiar, as she recalled seeing her on the news a few times. Bruce seemed to notice Gaston's happy gaze, and moved to make an introduction, not that Gaston needed one apparently.

Instead of gawking at them, Xelia resumed her sweeping, keeping an ear open to their conversation. Veronica Vreeland; no wonder she looked familiar. The news was in love with her, televising every gala she hosted or fawning over her donations to charity. If Xelia recalled correctly, which she usually didn't, her father was some type of top ranking military officer or something like that.

Bruce was soon being towed by Veronica who was busy listing off shops they needed to visit for who knows what. All of them being high end shops, the kind Xelia wouldn't even be qualified to sweep the floors in. The salon crew chatted excitedly about maybe even having Veronica Vreeland as a customer, as well as gossiping about Bruce Wayne and Veronica Vreeland becoming an item. Xelia guessed they did make a good pair, but then again, Bruce wasn't considered a playboy for nothing.

All was quiet on the western front a few hours later as Xelia milled around the salon, staying away from the ladder in the corner. Instead she passively flipped through the large pile of magazines; Gaston's inspirations for the salon. Every now and then, her boss would point out the things he really loved, just as a kid would when the toy store magazines came out for Christmas.

In hindsight, Xelia wasn't sure if she just ignored the front door opening, or if she and Gaston were too absorbed to hear it. The thing that really grabbed her attention was a certain tone, and one very distinct nickname.

"Hello, I'm here for my three thirty appoint- Skittles!?" The glossy magazine easily slid through her fingertips as Xelia's head shot up to see a brunette Harley, sanding with a simple smile on her face. Gaston, oblivious to the waves of recognition between the two, moved to pick up the slack.

"Of course, your name, miss?" He asked cheerfully.

"Harleen Quinzel." Harley announced proudly. Gaston looked at the computer, blissfully unaware for a few moments.

"Harleen Quinzel." His smile quickly dropped, the name fully registering in his mind, "Harleen Quinzel!?" Gaston's hands quickly flew from the keys, his eyes wide as he took a step back from the woman on the opposite side of the counter.

"The one an' only!" She chirped, "Don't worry, I'm all better now, see?" She quickly produced a document, a certificate of sanity, for Xelia and her boss. The words 'sane' stamped clearly across the page. Xelia suspected Harley figured that society wouldn't exactly welcome her back with open arms, so the girl was ready to show the document to any and all citizens who may shrink back from her. "To celebrate, my doc made me an appointment ta make me me again! I didn't know ya worked here Skittles." Gaston's eyes slowly drug over to her meet Xelia's, seemingly unsure of how to process the fact that Xelia knew Harley Quinn apparently. At that moment, the rainbow haired girl's mind went blank. How was she supposed to explain this one?

"Well, I- uh, we-" Xelia stuttered.

"Don't worry," Harley interjected with a wave of her hand, "we go way back, ya know, before I was loony." Xelia, agreeing with Harley's fluid lying skills, just nodding in agreement, keeping her relief internal. In opposition, Gaston's relief was quite visible, if not overly dramatic.

"Oh, thank the heavens for that," He said he said, his hands flamboyantly waving, "Well, Xelia is the color specialist after all, so she can take you from here." Eager to bow out of the situation, the man scooted away, more than likely going to take pretend inventory in the back room.

"C'mon, Harley." The rainbow haired girl said with a small shrug. It was actually kind of exciting to see Harley out of the asylum, and legally at that! The last time Xelia saw her she was being loaded in the back of an ambulance. Heck, the fact she was alive was astonishing; yet, not without complications. Her outfit, cute as it was, revealed her now faded scars. Thin cut lines, burn marks, and scars from haphazard doctoring, such as sloppy stitching were still there.

Harley had always been a chatterbox, but Harley after being pent up in an asylum for an overwhelming amount of time was chaotic. Xelia could barely get even a word in, let alone ask a question about something. Not that Xelia had any curiosities about the goings on in Arkham Asylum.

"How much longer?" She whined, kicking her feet in anticipation, "I left my babies at the dog park." It took Xelia a few moments to realized what she'd even said, as the girl had changed the subject at least six times in the last thirty seconds.

"Your babies? As in your hyenas?" Xelia questioned, her eyes widening as the girl in the chair before her nodded happily. "Harley, are you crazy!?" Attempting to be discreet, Xelia was forced to awkwardly whisper-yell the question.

"Not anymore!" She replied happily, oblivious to the danger she put Gotham's canine population in. "What?" She whined as she saw her some-what-friend's disappointment. "It's fenced in." Xelia would have slapped her forehead if her gloves weren't covered in bleach, instead she just shook her head, and picked up her pace a bit.

Harley launched back into another story about her time in Arkham, that Xelia couldn't quite follow. She attempted to, but Harley seemed to mainly use first names and nicknames when talking about her-no-longer-fellow-rogues. Every now and then, Gaston would not-so-discreetly eavesdrop, making his employee wasn't being held hostage or anything. Xelia couldn't help but smile at the irony of that.

Admits all of the stories, Harley never once mentioned "Mista J", or "Her Puddin'", or even The Joker by name. It made Xelia kind of proud, as she never quite saw Harley as a villain per se. Sure, she did bad things in the past, a lot of bad things, but now she had a chance of making up for it all. Maybe she and Harley could be "legitimate" friends even.

A few stories later, Harley was a happy blonde once more. She squealed in excitement, spinning in the chair a few times. Xelia officially decided that she preferred Harley as a blonde, it fit her happy personality. The blonde leapt from the chair, still spinning in her wake, nearly bowling the shorter girl over with her excited hug.

"Oh, thank you, Skittles! I'm me again!" Harley, for as small as she was, had a natural ability to hug someone to death, as she was nearly doing so to Xelia.

"You're welcome, Harley." She wheezed out, wiggling from her death grip. "You earned this." Harley smiled brightly at her friend's compliment.

"Thanks, Skittles. I'm ready ta turn my life around, but first," She eyed her clothes in the mirror with a frown, "I gotta get me some new clothes." She stuck her tongue out at her reflection's wardrobe as she proceeded to put her hair into its signature pigtails. Xelia put a firm hand onto her hip and gave Harley a displeased look.

"Actually, you should probably start by removing your 'babies' from the dog park before someone calls animal control."

"Aw, Skittles, you worry too much. Besides, they can out run any of tha cops 'round here." The typical Harley-esque answer made Xelia smile a bit as she shook her head.

Harley told Xelia about how Doctor Leeland kindly paid for Harley's entire salon trip, which considering the price, was quite generous of her. Then again, rehabilitation out of Arkham was nearly unheard of.

"Thanks again, Skittles!" Harley impulsively gave Xelia another hug, which Xelia actually surprised her by returning it.

"Just stay out of trouble." Xelia replied, watching Harley exit the salon. The blonde giggled and winked in response.

"C'mon, Skittles, ya know me!" And with those words, Harley proceeded to skip down the street, into a new life, Xelia supposed; she hoped anyway. She saw Gaston out of the corner of her eye sidle up to her, ready to ask a million and one questions; not that she blamed him she supposed.

How many people could say they were actually friends with Harley Quinn?


End file.
